


Fear of Silence

by last_illusions (injured_eternity)



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-05
Updated: 2009-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/injured_eternity/pseuds/last_illusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them wants to face the silence. Perhaps this year they don't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cae_prince](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cae_prince).



"Hey."

At the sound of his voice, she turned, then suddenly realised how long she'd been sitting still and grimaced. Blue eyes crinkling, he laughed softly, hesitant to disturb the chapel's quiet and idly wondering when he had last been in a church.

"Stiff?"

She held up her right hand, thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart. "I think it's welded to me," she admitted ruefully.

Slipping into the pew next to her, he threw an arm around her shoulders. "Is my company so bad you have to come hide out in here?"

It was her turn to laugh, curling into his side as she shook her head.

"I do this almost every year," she admitted, and he turned his head toward her, a quizzical look on his face.

"Do you?"

Nodding, she gave a little half shrug, absentmindedly running her thumb across the back of his hand.

"I used to dread Christmas."

He started, both at the interruption to the brief silence and the admission, blue eyes widening slightly in surprise, and she brushed a loose curl out of her eyes.

"I hated going home to an empty apartment," she continued, head still on his shoulder and eyes still focussed on nothing, "dreaded the reminder of how much I didn’t have."

His hand on her shoulder tightened in sympathy, but he didn't interrupt.

"Didn't matter what I was doing—classes, projects, work—I found excuses to stay as late as possible, took as many night shifts and holidays as they'd let me. When that ran out, I'd walk, drive, do something else until I was so tired I didn't care anymore."

She sighed, threading her fingers with his. "None of my relationships were ever serious enough to change that, never lasted long enough to change that. Sometime after I graduated from the Academy, I started coming here, hiding out in the back row. It wasn't until I met you and Claire that anyone cared enough, was close enough, to make a difference. And then..."

Waiting, he said nothing, but when she didn't seem inclined to finish her sentence, obvious though its ending seemed to be, he sighed. "Me, too."

Running a hand through his hair, he shrugged slightly at her questioning look.

"It wasn't just Christmas—if not for you, I'd probably have done the same thing then, too, but I hated going home every night, knowing it would still be empty," he pointed out wryly. "I even tried leaving the lights on, but nothing changed the silence."

"Why didn’t you—"

They both stopped talking, sheepish expressions crossing their faces, and gestured for the other to continue.

“Why didn't you say anything?" she finally asked, when it became clear he wouldn't go first.

A soft smile played at his lips, and he shook his head. "I was going to ask you that." Sighing, he ran his free hand through his dark hair, adding, "I don't know. I never wanted to... impose on you, I guess. I always figured you had better things to do than keep a bitter old man company."

She punched him in the arm. "You, Mac Taylor, are neither bitter nor old."

The laugh that came in answer was silent, shaking his shoulders as he tried not to laugh aloud. "I'm glad you think so."

At that, she sat up, tossing him an arch look. "Aren't I the only one who matters?"

His smile was full this time. "Of course." Then his gaze turned puzzled, slightly calculating. "And you? Why didn't _you_ ever say anything?”

It was her turn to shrug again—her shoulders would be sore if she kept this up—avoiding his gaze by settling back against him. "Same reasons, I suppose. We were friends, but I never wanted to push too hard in case I pushed you away."

"I'd never have turned you away," he pointed out softly, and she nodded.

"I wouldn’t have turned you away, either," she countered. "Knowing that doesn't make it any easier to take you up on it."

"Touché," he conceded wryly.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment, and then suddenly he stood, holding out a hand to her.

"Shall we change this?"

Her expression was confused, so he elaborated, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a velvet box. He offered it to her with his other hand, and she took both as he continued, "We've got one another this year, Stella Bonasera. Shall we let ourselves stop being afraid of silence?"

It was perhaps the most honest thing he'd said to her in a very long time, and as much as she wanted to tell him he was wrong, to deny the part of fear in their loneliness, she couldn't. Nor could she stop the slow smile that spread across her face as she nodded, squeezing the hand she held.

"Yes. Yes, we shall."

Rising ever so slightly onto her toes, she kissed his cheek, and he returned her smile, gesturing at the box she now held.

"Open it," he suggested, an impish light she'd almost forgotten and certainly missed coming into his eyes.

She flipped the little box open, and her smile widened. He reached in, lifting the tiny, white gold Greek flags out and threading the French wires through her ears.

"I couldn't resist," he admitted almost shyly.

"I love them," she informed him, glad she'd forgotten to put on a pair of earrings before she'd left her apartment. "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas, Stel."

"Merry Christmas, Mac."

Slipping the box into her own pocket and twining her fingers with his, she kissed his cheek again and they turned to leave the quiet chapel. There had been enough brooding over the years. This time they'd celebrate.

  
 _Finis._

 _Feedback is always appreciated._


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